


carry all my sins

by BananasofThorns



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Execution, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Memory Loss, Parallels, Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), THIS IS 1/1 CHAPTERS FOR A REASON, THIS IS AMBIGUOUS ENDING FOR A REASON, he's trying his best, probably lmao, the festival 2: electric (ran)boogaloo, traitor ranboo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananasofThorns/pseuds/BananasofThorns
Summary: Ranboo swallows. “All my armor and weapons and stuff are missing. Fundy and I were gonna go looking for them after the festival, I think.”“I see.” Tubbo smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine, it’s just a festival. We could probably find someone to lend you a sword or an axe or something.”He starts towards the stage, waving at people when they call his name, and Ranboo follows. The original panic has dulled to a cold buzz in his chest, but apprehension still wraps itself around his body like chains. He doesn’t like being without his armor and tools; he feels too exposed, and if something happens, he’ll be helpless.“Ranboo?” Tubbo calls, glancing back.Ranboo shakes his head and hurries to catch up. “Yeah, it’ll be fine,” he repeats. “Everything’s gonna be fine."Tubbo grins. “That’s the spirit.”Rule 5: be loyal.L'manberg doesn't do well with supposed traitors. Ranboo deals with the consequences.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Ranboo, Floris | Fundy & Ranboo & Toby | Tubbo, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Niki | Nihachu & Ranboo
Comments: 27
Kudos: 448





	carry all my sins

**Author's Note:**

> [title from Backbone - KALEO]
> 
> I speedran this fic and wrote it in like a day, starting directly after Ranboo's missing memory book stream ended. Of course, because the SMP is Like That, it was already canon divergent by the time I finished it a day later, and then it's gonna be _even more_ not canon once the festival happens later today. oh well. also I meant to post this last night but ao3 went down so Oof
> 
> anyway, here's 3.7k of Ranboo angst. enjoy!

Someone is pounding on his door. Ranboo groans, dropping a hand over his eyes to block the sun streaming in through his shutters. One of his cats is curled on his chest, but it jumps off with a small mrrp when he shifts. Almost immediately, he misses the warmth on his chest...

He’s not wearing his armor. Which makes sense, actually, because he usually takes it off when going to bed, but he doesn’t remember falling asleep, either. Not entirely out of the ordinary, but— 

He sits up so fast that he almost knocks his head against the wall and glances around; all his animals are there, and at first glance, none of his chests have been disturbed. His clothes are rumpled - had he fallen asleep without putting on pajamas, again? - but even as he stands and does a full scope of his house, his armor is nowhere to be seen. Where—

“Ranboo!” Fundy shouts, accompanied by another aggressive knock. “Wake up! What the fuck are you doing?”

“Hang on!” Ranboo calls, rubbing his head. Where is—? He opens the door and steps back to allow Fundy inside. “Fundy, have you seen my armor?”

“Huh? No, what do you mean, ‘have I seen your armor’? It’s your armor, dude!”

“I know! I can’t find it!”

Fundy snorts, leaning down to coo as the cats gather around his feet. Ranboo shakes his head, pulling himself up the ladder to check the second floor. Panic starts to rise as he rifles through the chests and sees no telltale flash of enchanted netherite, but he pushes it back. Surely he just misplaced it. Surely all the hours of grinding haven’t gone to waste in one night.

He double-checks. Then triple-checks. There’s still nothing. Maybe— maybe he wrote it down. He just needs to check his memory book, that’s all.

He reaches into his pocket. His fingers close around empty space.

There’s nothing there.

“Fundy?” Ranboo calls, voice slightly strangled by the panic clawing at his chest. “You’re _sure_ you haven’t seen it?”

“Yeah, why?” Fundy pokes his head up the ladder. “Hey, Ranboo, you okay, man? You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, I’m— it’s fine, I’m sure it’s nothing, I’ll look for it later. Let me grab my trident and then we can go, yeah?”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

Fundy squints at him for a moment longer before backing away, allowing Ranboo to drop back down to the first floor. He doesn’t push the question, and Ranboo is glad.

First the armor, then the memory book—

Now this. His weapons chest is empty. Even his hoes and shovels are gone, missing from their racks like they were never there in the first place. Ranboo runs his hands over the chest’s interior, like his tools are just hiding along the sides, and closes the lid with shaking hands. He curses softly under his breath and by the door, Fundy tenses.

“Ranboo, what? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before.” He chuckles nervously. “Are Big Q and I rubbing off on you too much?”

“No, it’s—” Ranboo shakes his head and stands. He’s trying his best to push down his panic, but it must show on his face because concern flashes briefly through Fundy’s eyes. “I can’t find my tridents, dude. All my tools are missing.”

Fundy frowns. “That’s...weird. Are you sure you didn’t just misplace them?”

“ _All_ of them?”

“Good point.” Fundy bites his lip, ears flicking as he glances around the room and then over his shoulder, at the door. “Maybe someone’s pranking you.”

Ranboo scoffs. “Sure. They just took _all my valuable gear_. Great prank.”

“Yeah, good point.” Fundy shifts, ear flicking again. “Look, man, we’re gonna be late to the festival if we don’t leave soon. We can look for your stuff afterward; it’s L’manberg, anyway, you don’t need your armor or anything.”

“But my tools—”

“You can borrow some of mine. I’m sure Sam would be happy to lend you one of his tridents for your game, too.”

Ranboo snorts. “Yeah, fair enough. Lead the way, then.”

Fundy grins, pushing the door open. Almost immediately, excited shouts and cheers from the festival float down the street. Ranboo grabs his crown - superficial, but it feels weird to go without it - from the hook by the door and waves goodbye to the cats. He hesitates in the doorway, studying the many chests and barrels lining his walls.

“Ranboo!” Fundy calls from down the steps. “Hurry up, dude!”

“Right, right, sorry. Coming.”

He closes the door behind him, locking it just in case. It wouldn’t do for the cats to escape, after all, and he’s pretty sure they’re smart enough to open unlocked doors. After one last worried glance at his house, Ranboo settles the crown on his head and rushes after Fundy.

“Coming!” He repeats, ignoring the dread curling tight around his lungs.

+++

“Ranboo!” Tubbo yells, glancing up from the second chessboard they’ve temporarily constructed on the plaza. “You made it! We had to have Fundy go get you, you overslept!”

Ranboo chuckles awkwardly as everyone around them glances over at the President’s exclamation. “Did I?” He glances up, squinting at the almost-noonday sun. “Huh, I guess I did. Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s okay! You’re just in time to watch me absolutely _destroy_ Sam at chess.”

“You will not!” Sam protests, and Tubbo laughs. “If this was Connect 4, it’d be a completely different story. I am _cracked_ at Connect 4.”

“It’s not Connect 4, though,” Ranboo points out. Sam groans.

The sun is warm on his back and, surrounded by friends, he feels himself relaxing slightly. He waves at Niki as she and Puffy pass by on their way to some of the food stalls, and Niki grins back. Over the top of the van, he sees Ant flying through the air, only to knock into one of the rings on the trident obstacle course and go tumbling back down. Somewhere, Quackity is cackling, and Ranboo is pretty sure he hears Bad yelling.

Sam hisses, startling him back to the present; the sound was far too similar to a creeper for his liking, but everyone else has been around Sam long enough that they’re used to it. Ranboo shakes his head - he’s too jumpy today.

“Checkmate!” Tubbo crows.

Sam groans, nudging his king piece in disappointment. “Man. That was a good game, Tubbo!”

“It was!”

“I’ll get you next time.”

Even through the mask, Ranboo can hear Sam’s grin. He and Tubbo start to reset the board, and Ranboo glances down when Fundy nudges him.

“Wanna play?”

“Oh, no,” Ranboo laughs, shaking his head. “You’d win, easy. I have no idea how to play chess.”

“Still?!”

“Yeah, I—”

“C’mon, Ranboo,” Tubbo groans, knocking his head against Ranboo’s arm. Ranboo jumps. “It’s a festival, have some fun!”

“Chess isn’t fun!”

Tubbo and Fundy fix him with twin looks of scandalized shock, and Ranboo wheezes.

“You—”

“What do you _mean_ chess isn’t fun?” Fundy demands, tail lashing.

Ranboo laughs, raising his hands. “I don’t know how to play! You’d just beat me! That’s not fun!”

“Hm.” Tubbo crosses his arms, doing his best to look down his nose at Ranboo even though he’s over a foot and a half shorter. “Sounds like the words of a coward.”

“They are!” Ranboo agrees, and all three of them burst into laughter. “They really, really are!”

+++

“I should probably get ready for my speech, huh,” Tubbo says, grimacing as he stands and grabs his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Fundy, can you go and find Big Q? I think I saw him terrorizing Bad by the fountain a little bit ago.”

“Of course. See you guys on stage.” Fundy waves, slipping into the crowd.

Ranboo sighs. “I’ll, uh, go find a seat, I guess? Since you—”

“What? No, what are you on about?” Tubbo grins. “You’re my bodyguard, Ranboo, you’re gonna be up on the stage with us!”

“Oh.” That makes sense. “I don’t have my weapons or anything, though.”

Tubbo’s smile falters. “What do you mean?”

“All my armor and weapons and stuff are missing. Fundy and I were gonna go looking for them after the festival, I think.”

“I see.” Tubbo smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine, it’s just a festival. We could probably find someone to lend you a sword or an axe or something.”

He starts towards the stage, waving at people when they call his name, and Ranboo follows. The original panic has dulled to a cold buzz in his chest, but apprehension still wraps itself around his body like chains. He doesn’t like being without his armor and tools; he feels too exposed, and if something happens, he’ll be helpless.

“Ranboo?” Tubbo calls, glancing back.

Ranboo shakes his head and hurries to catch up. “Yeah, it’ll be fine,” he repeats. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Tubbo grins. “That’s the spirit.”

+++

Ranboo stands behind Tubbo, Fundy, and Quackity on the stage, watching the crowd over their heads. The iron pickaxe Quackity had lent him, for lack of a better weapon (it’s a festival and it’s Quackity, of course he wouldn’t have a good weapon; Ranboo tries not to feel like they’re purposefully weakening him), feels flimsy compared to the netherite tools he’s used to. He feels exposed without his armor, but as Tubbo said: it’s a festival. Not even Technoblade or Dream would dare to attack them while they’re celebrating, right?

Barely visible around the corner of the van, the door to the bee dome opens and closes. Ranboo squints, but he can’t make out anyone. Maybe it was just a trick of the eye; the dome is pretty far away, after all, and the door is only visible from a weird angle around the van. He’s probably just seeing things.

Yeah. That’s all.

He turns his attention back to the crowd. Niki smiles when he catches her eye; he does his best to return it, but his grin feels weak. She tilts her head, concern washing across her face, and he looks away to the edge of the crowd.

Is he seeing things again, or are there potion effects flickering around something - someone - that isn’t there?

His fingers twitch towards the pickaxe slung over his shoulder. “Quackity,” he hisses, leaning down to the Secretary of State.

Quackity glares up at him. “Tubbo’s about to start his speech, man.”

“But—”

“Whatever it is can wait, can’t it?”

“Right.” He swallows and leans back. “Sorry, my bad.”

Quackity’s eyes stay on him for a moment, something dark lurking on the edges of his expression, before his face smooths into a pleasant smile and he turns back around. Ranboo can feel Fundy watching him, but he ignores it and after a moment, the fox hybrid looks away. Tubbo glances back at them, eyebrow raised, before he smiles brightly and turns to address the crowd.

“Welcome to the festival!” He calls. The crowd cheers; Fundy whoops and Quackity laughs, pumping his fists in the air. “Welcome. I know it’s been rough, and we— we really haven’t had the best track record for festivals, let’s be honest.”

Tubbo laughs, nervous but doing well at hiding it, and the crowd chuckles with him. Quackity scoffs under his breath, bitter. Tubbo glances at him but otherwise ignores it, smile never wavering. Ranboo tenses; he can’t help himself.

“We haven’t had the best track record, but this one will be better,” Tubbo continues over the crowd’s murmuring. “This is a celebration of democracy! We have fought through everything that has been thrown at us, and we have won. L’manberg is free now. Look around you, at what we’ve built - I couldn’t have done this alone. So thank you, to my friends and citizens, and thank you to my cabinet. To Fundy, Quackity, and Ranboo—”

Tubbo pauses, turning to gesture at the three of them. Ranboo shifts and forces a smile onto his face; he wasn’t ready for the full brunt of the crowd’s attention, even if he’s friends or at least acquaintances with most of them. Fundy slings an arm around his torso and Ranboo laughs, startled, as he teasingly pats Fundy on the head. Quackity grins at them and Tubbo chuckles, smile brightening as he turns back around.

“Thank you. There have been some rough spots, but we’ve gotten through them together, and we will continue to do so. And, with that in mind, I’d like to turn it over to Quackity.”

Tubbo steps back, trading places with Quackity as the Secretary of State steps up to the podium. In the crowd, Karl wolf-whistles, and Quackity laughs.

“Hey, guys! Welcome. I just have a few things to say, and I’ll try to be brief so we can all get back to the festivities, because I know that’s what you _really_ came for.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Tubbo murmurs, but he’s laughing. Quackity winks at him over his shoulder.

“First of all, against all the odds, L’manberg has come so far from the small country it once was, and it’s only going to go up from here, baby.”

Quackity pauses for the cheers, grinning wide despite the scars left from his fight against Techno. The joy from the crowd and his friends is infectious, and for a moment all ofRanboo’s nerves fade as he stands tall with Fundy and Tubbo.

But then Quackity laughs, low and sinister. The cheers taper off; Niki and Puffy exchange a worried look. Sam reaches for the trident sheathed on his back, but he pauses when Bad places a hand on his shoulder. The breath freezes in Ranboo’s lungs, panic rushing back full force. Before he can stop himself, he’s pulled the pickaxe off his shoulder. On either side of him, Tubbo and Fundy tense, and Quackity turns with a smile so sharp that it burns.

“Ranboo!” He says, still abrasively cheerful. His eyes are dark and deadly. “My friend. You got anything you wanna say?”

“Uh,” Ranboo starts, glancing nervously at the crowd. They’re all frozen; when he looks at Niki, she just shakes her head sadly, something like familiar resignation in her eyes. She can’t do anything. “Not— no, I don’t think so?” He tightens his grip on the pickaxe - it’s not preferred, but he can fight with it if he needs to. He doesn’t want to. “I didn’t know I’d have to do a speech, Tubbo didn’t warn me—”

“Don’t play stupid, Ranboo,” Quackity murmurs, stepping forward. 

Instinctively, Ranboo scrambles back, only to knock into Tubbo and Fundy.

“I—”

“We know what you’ve been up to!” Quackity snaps. Then, calmer, “We found your book, Ranboo! It was a _very_ interesting read, you know?”

Quackity reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out an all-too-familiar notebook. He stalks forward and Ranboo can’t back away, trapped by Tubbo and Fundy— by his _friends._

“ _Very_ interesting,” Quackity repeats. “My favorite parts were when you talked about Technoblade and Philza.”

A few people in the crowd gasp, but Ranboo barely hears them over the roaring in his ears. Quackity takes another step forward, close enough to jab the notebook into Ranboo’s chest, and it’s all instinct that has him raising the pickaxe and slamming it into Quackity’s legs. The man stumbles back, snarling, and Ranboo snatches the notebook with his free hand.

“I didn’t have a _choice!”_ He yells, clutching the notebook to his chest, pickaxe held like a barrier between him and Quackity. “I was— he threatened me, man! I couldn’t— peer pressure! He and Tommy—”

Tubbo’s eyes flash. “Peer pressure?” He repeats. “ _Peer pressure?_ That’s the excuse Technoblade gave when he shot a firework through my fucking chest!”

“I—”

“Look, man,” Fundy sighs, and Ranboo spins to face him while still keeping Tubbo and Quackity in sight. “I didn’t want to do this, but...you know what happens to traitors, Ranboo?”

Ranboo swallows. The pickaxe is heavy in his hand. “I— I don’t, actually.”

Quackity chuckles, low and humorous. It sounds out of place in his mouth, and Ranboo shudders. “Nothing good.”

Tubbo winces and holds out a hand. “Ranboo, I’m sorry, but...hand over the notebook and the pickaxe.”

“You— Tubbo, you...you said L’manberg was going to change. You said things were going to be better. This—” Ranboo laughs, and it feels like he’s choking. “This _really_ doesn’t seem like it’s following those rules we talked about.”

“‘Never shoot first’,” Tubbo recites. “That was the first rule. But the fifth rule, Ranboo - do you know what that was?”

“I—”

“Be _loyal.”_

Ranboo’s hands are shaking so hard that he can barely hold the pickaxe straight. “Tubbo, _please—_ ”

“Quackity, Fundy,” Tubbo interrupts, tone harsh and eyes cold. “Take him to the execution square.”

A crossbow presses against Ranboo’s back and he hisses, an instinctive mix between an enderman’s snarl and a ghast’s whimper. Tubbo winces but doesn’t back down, and the crossbow stays steady in Fundy’s hands.

“You can’t!” Someone shouts, and it takes Ranboo a moment to recognize Niki’s voice through his rising panic. “Tubbo, please don’t.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Niki.”

Tubbo’s voice is cold, colder than Ranboo has ever heard it, even during Tommy’s exile. He flinches, but the crossbow at his back prevents him from moving away when Quackity snatches the pickaxe and notebook from his numb hands.

“I’ll be taking these,” he mutters, and Ranboo hisses at him, all enderman.

The crossbow pokes his back. “Shut up,” Fundy orders.

“You— stop!” Niki cries. Over Quackity’s head, Ranboo watches as she glares up at the stage, only held back by Puffy’s arm around her waist. “Stop it! He’s my _friend,_ he’s innocent, let him go!”

“He’s a traitor!” Tubbo shouts.

At the same time, Quackity snaps, “Shut up, Nihachu.”

Niki stills in Puffy’s hold. When she speaks, her voice is frozen. “You sound like Schlatt.”

Tubbo shudders, but Quackity’s smile just sharpens as he starts towards the execution square. After a moment, Tubbo follows after, and Fundy sighs before nudging Ranboo forward. The crossbow bolt pokes into his back, and there’s nothing he can do but allow himself to be led towards death. Behind them, the crowd is silent save for the shuffling of their feet and a few low murmurs, and Ranboo doesn’t have to look back to know they’re following.

He turns anyway. Niki’s chin is high, even through her tears; beside her, Puffy’s face is blank but her eyes are distant and conflicted. Behind his sunglasses, Eret is unreadable. Towards the back of the crowd, Sam, Bad, and Ant murmur aggressively, but Ranboo has no idea what they’re saying and if it’s good or not. Fundy nudges him forward and he looks away, back to where Tubbo and Quackity are waiting.

He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice, but the execution stage has been renovated. The iron bars have been replaced by solid glass, broken only by an iron door with a small, square opening at the center. The anvil contraption has been dismantled, but another redstone machine waits a few blocks away from the cage; a dispenser is lined up perfectly with the door’s hole, and dread threatens to suffocate him as Quackity and Fundy push him inside. The lock clicks and Fundy steps back but Quackity stays, leering through the glass.

“There’s no room for traitors here, Ranboo,” he says, low and monotone.

“Give him a trial, at least!” Sam shouts, and Ranboo turns as fast as he can in the small space to see that everyone has arrived to watch him die.

“Traitors don’t _get_ trials, Sam,” Quackity snaps. “This is an execution.”

Ranboo winces. Everyone is crowding around the stage, either glaring silently or arguing with Quackity and Fundy. It’s touching, almost, that they seem to care for him so much, but...it won’t do much, in the end. If the Butchers want him dead, they won’t stop until he is, and he’s not like Technoblade - he’s just mortal. Nothing’s going to save him now.

Something moving beyond the crowd catches his eye. Ranboo squints, pressing his face against the glass as discreetly as he can. Just like he’d seen up on the stage, potion effects flicker around empty space. _Someone’s there,_ he thinks, hope rising foolishly in his chest.

“Somebody flip the fucking lever!” Quackity snaps.

“No, don’t—!”

Niki. Ranboo winces, turning away; he doesn’t want to see the look on her face when he dies.

Movement catches his attention. Half hidden behind a bush, someone’s form flickers in and out as their invisibility fades. Ranboo holds his breath, waiting for whatever death the Butchers have planned. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off whoever is hiding.

“I got it!” Fundy yells.

A lever clicks.

The first arrow slams into his torso and Ranboo _screams,_ a hellish mix of an enderman screech and a ghast shriek that tears at his throat. As one, the crowd gathered at the base of the execution stand flinches away; Ant presses his paws to his ears, hissing. From behind the bush, Phil shoots to his feet, eyes blazing, and Ranboo chokes on a startled gasp. Behind him, the dispenser clicks again, and Fundy curses.

“It’s not working! Did we—”

“Just use the fucking crossbow,” Quackity snaps. Ranboo flinches.

He can’t— gods, he doesn’t want to die. Outside the cage, he’s vaguely aware of people yelling; someone is laughing, he thinks, and it sounds almost familiar, but...why would someone be _laughing_ at his _execution?_

A crossbow bolt pierces his shoulder and he bites back another scream, stumbling forward to slam into the glass wall of the cage. Behind him, the crossbow creaks as Fundy reloads. People are still shouting. His shoulder and stomach _burn,_ but the rest of him feels numb and tingly.

He doesn’t want to die, not like this _._ He needs to get out.

The crossbow clicks. Ranboo flinches, pressing himself as far from the door as he can. He wants—

Purple sparks at the edges of his vision. Everything goes cold, and then the world goes dark.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments and kudos are very appreciated 💛 If you have any questions about the ending or anything else in the fic, let me know! I won't be adding another chapter; I wanted it to end how it did for a reason.
> 
> some things that might answer some questions:  
> 1) It was kind of ambiguous at the beginning, but I wrote this to follow directly after the end of Ranboo's stream on January 3rd. The idea is that at least one of the Butchers knocked him out, sedated him, took all his items, and then relied on his memory issues for him to not catch on to anything wacky (it worked, mostly). The festival - and his execution - was the next day.
> 
> 2) Ant, Fundy, Sam, and Ranboo are all the mentioned hybrids in this fic. Ant is basically an anthropomorphic cat. Fundy his a human-fox hybrid; he has fox ears and a tail. Sam is a creeper hybrid; in short, his skin has patches that look like creeper skin and he wears a mask over the bottom half of his face because he has to breathe gunpowder instead of oxygen. Ranboo is an enderman-ghast hybrid; he's like 7 and a half feet tall, can make both enderman and ghast sounds, and maybe has some other powers related to those mobs.
> 
> 3) possessed Quackity (and/or Tubbo)? perhaps? idk man the Butchers are being kinda questionable!
> 
> 4) The anarchists sneaking into L'manberg to cause problems at the festival only to see the Butchers executing Ranboo. what do they do


End file.
